


Perseverance and Longing

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, I think?, M/M, Personal Introspection, Voyeurism, Yuri gets a glimpse of a private moment and it causes him to partake in some soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: On his way home through the Olympic Village, Yuri gets a look at true intimacy, which leaves him with a questionable sense of longing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I'm not quite certain of what to say, here. I suppose the main thing to note is that it's deliberate when the story notes Yuri as being seventeen. While arbitrary to the spirit of the story, for clarity's sake just know that this takes place at the 2018 Winter Olympics.
> 
> Also: _kotyonok_ is Russian for _kitten_ , which is used here as a term of endearment.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this. I loved writing it, and hope you were able to enjoy it, too!

Victor Nikiforov is a man with a skilled touch. Designed with a talent for precision, there are no doubt countless people who have kept track of and studied him on the ice, only to later envision the delicacy implied by that same touch.

That’s not to say they’re wrong, though the truth is precious few of those people could even begin to imagine the caliber of Victor’s love.

But then, few people have seen just what Yuri Plisetsky has seen.

It’s not that he means to pry, exactly. Though after walking past the cracked blinds to Victor’s apartment in the athletic village, there’s admittedly little else he is compelled to do.

It’s difficult to pull himself away when only a few feet away, the influential and celebrated athlete-turned-gold-medal-producing-coach is fully absorbed in unfastening each button on the front of Yuuri Katsuki’s dress shirt. The careful, reverent way he moves causes the rest of the world to be lost on Yuri, and even at seventeen he sees this for the act of worship it truly is.

Surely, the object of Victor’s affection knows this. Yuuri’s got one hand at Victor’s waist while the other pulls at the fallen suspender he’s wrapped around his fist. He feels it against his skin when Victor presses lips, humbled and guileless to Yuuri’s already heated skin.

Now he understands it. This is what Victor had meant by giving Yuuri the Eros.

It comes to light that the playboy is little more than a façade, here having been replaced by who can only be described as the reverent lover. Entirely affected as Yuuri slides trousers away from wanting hips, Yuri’s eyes go wide when he notices that Victor’s erection positively weeps between them.

Yuri would never presume this to be the inception of a quiet, if not obvious relationship. This, he can see, is the appearance of passion that has been carefully looked after. Nourished. And yet, there is also no getting around the fact that over and over again, Victor has unabashedly been waiting for this.

Looking on, he watches Victor’s mouth savoring and trailing the porcelain of Yuuri’s neck while one hand sets the cadence at which the lovers move. And just like that, curious and observant, Yuri becomes witness to the moment where all pretense falls away.

This concept of intimacy is so foreign, so unlike what Yuri might have ever imagined that at least for now, there is no embarrassment or shame to be found within him. Messy but striking, Yuri is left somewhat jealous and wanting. This isn’t nearly as difficult to admit as the fact that his feelings have little to do with the physicality of the situation.

Eventually he turns around, his back leaning against half-dead ivy that has long since committed itself to the antiquated brick building. Shy laughter rings on the other side of the window, and in another moment comes the sound of a running shower.

Once again, only now in such a strange, personal way, Yuri is left alone. He stands there for a moment longer to consider the complexity of his feelings. Questioning how he manages to observe such intimacy without stirring something akin to disgust, or even arousal from inside himself.

Something, anything.

And yet, it isn’t quite _nothing_ , he feels, either.

Yuri needs a moment. Just to himself. Just for now, so he might close his eyes and contemplate what any of this might mean. Why his mind insists this inflection occur _now_ , he hasn’t a clue. It isn’t as if there isn’t enough to worry about, between the ardor he pours into each new routine, the unfamiliar eyes that now accompany each practice, and how badly he wants for his—

“Ah!”

Yuri isn’t expecting sudden company, and recoils when the young woman strolling up the sidewalk plays at being inconspicuous.

“There you are, Kotyonok.”

“Mila...” It’s a simple, casual pivot away from the window, a side-gaze somewhere to the left, but Yuri knows perfectly well that she is astute enough to realize he was not merely passing by.

“Go away.”

“Come now, Yuri.” After her outright, playful character, Mila’s is a subtle brand of obnoxiousness that often goes undetected by the people surrounding her. Yuri, for reasons mostly unbeknownst to himself, has never taken issue discerning Mila’s intentions. It’s a fact that has established an element of respect between the two skaters, as well as a certain cohesion on the ice, though tonight he has little interest in humoring her.

Yuri stares straight forward as he walks, ignoring Mila and the fluid choreography of her wrists and hands. He’s had enough watching this particular routine at the rink, and has no desire to watch it parade around him off the ice.

She smiles playfully, all the while using her skill and lilt to revolve around him. “Let me walk you home, Kotyonok.”

“I don’t need a chaperone.” He remarks, with only a tinge of defiance in his voice. “Besides, I’m the man here. I should be the one walking you home.”

Crisp laughter fills the air, though the comment is also enough to sober Mila up.

“Since when does the prima ballerina care about gender roles?”

“I don’t. I’m still a man, though.”

“Of course you are, Kotyonok! Still, you’re not responsible for looking or moving how they believe a man should.” Here, Mila’s words have softened enough to indicate that at least for now, she is serious. “Why don’t you channel that pout of yours into reinventing what a man behaves like? Hm?”

At this, she pauses herself abruptly right in front of Yuri, smiling confidently in the way he stops short, when anyone else would easily have stepped straight into her.

“See?” Looking down, she draws attention to the inches of space he’s managed to keep between them. “You’re young, you’re _deft_.”

Sighing, there is only a slight hesitation when Yuri moves to lay his forehead against her shoulder. His body is as fit and taken care of as possible, but oh, how the rest of him is so very tired.

“Mila…”

For once, as they rake comfort across his scalp, Yuri doesn’t quite mind the sharp acrylic of Mila’s nails. They’re so much less annoying now that he knows they can serve a purpose.

“One day you’re going to have everything they have.” There’s solace in the way she whispers to him, and it is so convincing that Yuri takes it as a promise. “Just like Victor and Yuuri deserve it. And they earned it. You will, too.”

He almost hates the way she insists on bringing them up, were it not for the fact that she’s right.

And admittedly, Yuri knows how badly he wants everything they have, too.


End file.
